Trash Panda Chronicles
by Parabatrai
Summary: A collection of one-shots and drabbles following everybody's favorite Trash Panda, Rocket, and his team of misfits, as they squabble and clash, lean on one another and grow. And, most importantly, learn what it's like to be a team again...to be a family. Very mild language (but then again, it is Rocket we're dealing with!)
1. Chapter 1 - Braids

**Braids**

**Genre: Fluff (but due to my nature I've added some angst, just to be evil!)**

**Warnings: None**

_**Rocket's mind wanders back to the past, where he remembers a friend he had to lose to gain a family, and does something kind, and rather unconventional, for Mantis**_

_"OUCH!"_ Mantis' squeak echoed through the ship again. And again. And again. Rocket tried to ignore it, as he always did when his team were up to something stupid. He fiddled with the control panel, manning the ship while Quill and the rest of the team were supposed to be sleeping. Rocket usually piloted their spaceship at night (despite the fact that it always seemed to look like night in space). It had become a habit over the years. He was almost always unable to sleep soundly at night, back then at least. Cat-naps and dozes during the day kept him going. That feeling of guilt and loneliness never went away, until last month that was. Last month when he got his family back...

Now, he used this quiet time to ponder. He could have just turned on the autopilot and went to bed, but he just didn't feel the call of sleep. He had too much on his mind. Tonight, as he did last night and the nights before that, he would sit in the pilot seat until the early hours of the morning, gazing at the stars and meteors hurtling past in the distance. Quiet time. His time to ponder. To remember.

He allowed his mind to wander back, definitely not as far as...that place...but to Groot, and Yondu. To Stark, and Romanoff. To Gamora, wherever, whenever she was...

His time alone wasn't always productive. Sometimes, it was less of a blessing, and more of a curse.

_"OUCH," _she cried again, much more ear-piercing than the last few times. Rocket rolled his eyes. He didn't want to complain too much. After all, a few weeks ago, he would have done anything to have his friends' voices on his ship, even if it was Mantis' shrieks. He switched on the autopilot and slid off his seat.

Mantis' room was across from Quill's, but for some reason the humie wasn't responding whatsoever to the noise. Rocket presumed he'd probably had his headphones stuffed into his ears. Rocket wouldn't give him any crap tonight. He'd had a tough day...

He tip-toed his way over to the girl's room, and poked his head around her door.

"What the..."

_"OUUUCCHH!"_ The girl's scream pierced through the ship yet again. A muffled '_shut up_' and a kick from the wall next door was his fellow team mates' efforts at protest. Everyone was wrecked, emotionally and physically. Today was yet another failure in a series of 'Locate Gamora' missions. This time, Quill, Groot, Drax and Mantis chased a pointless lead on a small, dusty planet rich in armament weaponry, which would have been right up Rocket's ally had he and Nebula not been tasked with ship repairs. Yesterday, Quill had fallen asleep at the controls (though he denied it consistently) and bashed right into a space rock. Thor wasn't even on board. Two days ago, he wandered off to scope out some 'personal endeavour' in the team's new (sort-of stolen) pod, though he checked in every few hours.

Needless to say, the whole mission was a complete disaster. Quill and the gang arrived back on board the Benatar angry, filthy and bruised. Nebula scoffed. She knew as well as Rocket did that some leads were ridiculous. They had five years practice on that front. She wished to find her sister too, but for some reason or another, Gamora just didn't want to be found...yet.

Now, Mantis was tugging a hairbrush through her wet, tangled locks, her face screwed in sheer frustration. An assortment of small twigs and leaves lay scattered across her floor. The team had come home absolutely covered in dirt and grime, but Rocket guessed that the others didn't have to worry about 'hair trouble'. Well, at least it wasn't anything serious.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Mantis jumped, screeching in surprise as she did so. Another kick on the wall next door shut her up. Drax was in no humour for bullcrap tonight.

"Sorry!" she leaned down, bringing her voice to a whisper. "I didn't mean to be so loud."

"S'alright," he answered. "But, going back to my question, what the freaking hell are you doing?" She pulled another leaf from behind her hear and chucked it on the ground, grumbling in response. "You should have taken all that crap out of your hair before you washed it, you know. Wet fur ain't nobody's friend."

Mantis pulled at her scalp one last time, biting back a cry as the comb stuck in place and ripped out several strands of hair. She chucked it across the room in frustration, folding her arms across her chest and pouting like a child. Rocket held back a laugh. She looked ridiculous, with twigs sticking out of random intervals on her head. He missed this. He missed the stupidity on board his ship. He missed his team of misfits and jackasses. He missed his family.

"Look, it ain't that bad. Pipe down and I'll see what I can do." He scooped up the shabby hairbrush and hopped on to her bed while she crouched down, her back facing him. He pulled in his claws, not wanting to scratch her, and got to work.

"You're overdramatic as hell," he commented, pulling out the last of the vegetation. She winced every time he tugged on a knot or pulled at a leaf. She just couldn't sit still for two consecutive minutes. He chucked the comb away, as most of the teeth had snapped... OK, maybe she wasn't being overdramatic...he had probably given her whiplash...

She toyed around with the leaves on the ground, poking the sticks through each one, creating some sort of hideous elf jewellery. He rolled his eyes yet again, running his fingers through her now tangle-free hair. He was pretty sure he'd removed all of the forest crap. His mind wandered, like it always did at night time. He closed his eyes.

He wasn't all that close to her. He had written her the occasional email every month or so, giving updates about space, and space, and more space. But it was because of her that he had what he had now. Tony Stark made the ultimate sacrifice to save the universe, and Rocket would be forever grateful, but so did she. Natasha Romanoff, his friend Nat, had saved them all too. Behind his closed eyes, her face stared back at him, full of honour and selflessness and pride. He may not have been close to her, but he missed her none the less. He missed both of them.

He opened his eyes. Subconsciously, his fingers had intertwined his team mate's hair into a familiar style...a scrappy little braid. He allowed himself a smile. She died for them, but they could live for her memory. He could live for her honour.

He fished a piece of wire out of his pocket, and fashioned it around the end of his work, keeping the braid in place. In some small ways, Nat would never be forgotten.

"There you go," he hopped off of the bed, watching as his team mate's slender fingers explored her new look. "Tell anyone about this, and I'll cut it off." Her face lit up, despite his threatening joke, and for Rocket, that was enough.


	2. Chapter 2 - Captains and Scarves

**Captains and Scarves**

_**Quill and Rocket share a brief moment of team bonding, and Quill pushes questions of his dusted past**_

His dark eyes squinted and blinked, and his nose twitched. He stared at the ceiling, tiredness ebbing away. He had gotten good at managing his sleep patterns. He was breaking his old habits, bit by bit. He had slept through the night (well, since 2am at least) without jolting out of a nightmare or waking with the need to check the ship, and on Nebula, making sure she was still there, and on the rest of his team, making sure _they_ were still there. He sat up, stretching. His cybernetics were acting up a bit, and a little blood was weeping from one of his chest implants, but he simply wiped it away and pulled on his jumpsuit, tucking the ends of his scarf into it as he left his room. The implants played up all the time, especially these past few years, but the pain wasn't unbearable anymore. When they did act up, it was usually a dull ache. Today would be manageable. In fact, sometimes he simply forgot about it…

"Mornin' Sleeping Beauty. Thought I'd have to call in Mantis to wake _you_ up." Rocket jumped, hearing Quill's jeer from the pilot's seat. He rolled his eyes, hopping into the co-pilot's seat and folding his arms. He was always first up; first to wake up the ship and definitely first to pilot it every morning. It must have been later than he thought. He could hear Drax and Mantis in the kitchen, the smell of their breakfast wafting through the ship. Rocket rolled his head to the side, eyeing Quill.

"Any word from Thor?" Quill huffed, rolling his eyes. It wasn't that he didn't like Thor. On the contrary, when they weren't failing missions and squabbling over the controls, they got on quite well. On one particular pilot battle, Rocket had been observing from afar with Nebula, while Groot, Mantis and Drax ignited the fight with comments and quips. At the beginning, it was amusing watching Thor get under Quill's skin and vice versa. Now, it was probably for the best that Thor was taking a little time to himself. He could be captain of his own pod. Nebula had crouched down to the creature's level, something that Rocket used to find demeaning and insulting. Not anymore.

"Why do you not tell them that you should be the captain?"

"Quill has always thought of himself as captain. It's his thing."

"You have been piloting this ship for years, and you don't mind them taking over?" He knew Nebula was not trying to stir trouble. They weren't about to lead a coup now. Truth was, he didn't care all that much for being the captain anymore. He had five years to do so, and without his family on board, it was a chore. Keep the ship going, get supplies, remember to eat, try to sleep, yada yada yada. He still liked to steer the ship and man the weaponry, because weapons were _his_ thing, but if it kept Quill happy, he could gladly take the wheel.

"Keeps Quill entertained. Out from under our feet. If Quill's happy, then there's more of a chance he'll shut the hell up and we can be happy too." Nebula seemed satisfied with this answer, but Rocket knew that Quill's 'happiness' was a front. Unless they found Gamora, he'd never be truly happy...

Rocket was pulled from his memory as Quill answered.

"Called half an hour ago. Asked where _you_ were. Said he'd be back in a day or two. Joy."

"If you want I can tape your hands to the wheel so he can't move you. Oh, I've got some hard-core superglue I stole from the big greenie's lab back on Earth, if you want to use that instead." Quill gave a short laugh before turning to observe him. He was gone for five years, they all were, without knowing any different. He shuddered to think how Rocket managed to keep his sanity being partnered up with Nebula of all people, who still didn't brush well with Quill, yet somehow got on with Rocket better than anyone else. Being separated from Groot must have been a nightmare for him.

"You mind not staring into my soul? I _can_ see you, you know."

"You didn't call it Terra."

"What?"

"Earth. You didn't call it Terra."

"Yeah, because it's called Earth, dumbass. People on Terra don't call it Terra. I kinda just forgot about it."

"You been there a lot? To Earth?" Rocket fumbled with the controls, looking for something to do. Quill wasn't looking at him anymore, but was staring at a supernova in the distance.

"Couple of times, yeah. Maybe five? Six? Stopped for supplies every now and then when we were passing." Quill turned to look at him again.

"Can I ask you something?"

"That's all you've been doing. Try piloting the ship, or you might as well just give the job to Thor."

"OK, first off that was rude and a little overly-defensive, and secondly, I'm going to ask you anyway."

"I swear, Quill, of this is some dumb heart-to-heart I'll…"

"Why are you wearing my scarf?" Rocket stopped mid-rant, absentmindedly looking down at the garment around his neck. What was he supposed to say? That he missed them so much that one night five years ago he tore through Quill's belongings to find something to comfort him? That he found that dumb red scarf that still smelled of Quill and made it a part of his outfit? After a few days, it had definitely lost his scent, but it still made Rocket feel closer to him...to all of his snapped teammates. No, Rocket wasn't up for _that_ conversation, and maybe he never would be.

"It's been a whole ass month and you've only noticed it _now_?"

"Answer the question," Quill mumbled, messing around with buttons on the control panel.

"Why, you want it back or something?"

"No, you can have it, it probably reeks of you by now anyway," Quill maneuvered the ship away from a stray meteor, tilting the entire ship. A crash came from the kitchen and Drax swore. Mantis howled with laughter. "So, did you just…take _all_ my things while I bit the dust or…?" Quill was teasing him, and he knew it. Rocket pulled the red material off, tugging it over his ears and chucking it over to Quill. The human stopped teasing. "It was a _joke_ man, you can keep it." He fired it back to him.

Rocket straightened it out on his lap. It was well worn now, compared to when Quill wore it all those years ago. Tatty, even. But he was still attached to it.

"You sure? Whenever you feel slightly more pathetic than usual, you can smell it and think of me," Rocket teased back, wafting the material back and forth under Quill's nose. The captain swatted him away.

"No thanks, dude. I smell enough of you around the ship as it is. I mean, did you guys not clean up _at all_ while I was gone? Jeez, it's like raccoon central here, and there's only _one_ of you!"

"I'm _not_ a _raccoon_, jackass," he shot back, before wrapping the scarf around his neck again.

A blue hand landed on the top of Rocket's chair, and Quill jumped. Nebula hardly made a sound before appearing. Rocket had gotten used to that.

"The two idiots in the kitchen want you both to know that they have made breakfast. One of them has new hair. I thought you should know."

"Oh _yeah_. Mantis braided her hair. Even fastened it with a band of _your_ special titanium wire, Rocket," Quill raised an eye brow, one side of his mouth curving upwards into a crooked smile, knowing full well who was behind the woman's sudden fashion awakening.

Rocket tucked the ends of his scarf into his jumpsuit again, hopping off the seat.

"Shut it, Star-Mulch."

**Author's Note**

**I was originally going to do a random scattering of one-shots (which I'm still doing) but I would also like to add an element of chronological order to my drabbles, so this particular one-shot takes place the morning after 'Braids'. Please read and review and thanks for all the support of my previous chapter!**


	3. Chapter 3 - Jumanjarian

_**Jumanjarian **_

_**The team respond to an SOS call, and are faced with more than what they bargained for...**_

"Rocket."

Rocket continued to tinker with the gadgets on the floor. Groot slouched by the wall next to him, playing his video game and kicking over tools that were out of Rocket's reach. Rocket tried not to give him too much hassle for playing that game, seeing as _technically_ Groot hadn't played it for five years, which was longer than most confiscations tended to last anyway. Oddly, the video game's blaster sounds were comforting, and put him at ease while he worked on designing his new smoke bomb. He didn't even register Nebula calling his name.

"Rocket. You should see this."

The creature hopped up, sliding the unfinished weapon underneath a nearby table so Groot wouldn't step on it. He scurried over to the pilot's seat, where Nebula stood, tapping on a red flashing screen. The SOS alarm. It was not uncommon, as the pair had patrolled space with Carol for the past few years, answering distress signals and shooting down deadly monsters. However, this past month had been lacking in SOS calls. In fact, since the Time Heist and the reversal of the Snap, there had been little action at all. Both easily slid back into their old habit.

"Alright Nebs, try to get into contact with the planet again. Setting course for Jumanjarian…"

"Juman-what-ian?" Quill popped into view, noticing the flashing screen. "Oh, an SOS. I guess we should…"

"I've called the planet again, but no one is responding. He's getting us there." Nebula pointed at Rocket, who buckled himself into the pilot seat.

"Oh, awesome…It's just that, um, that's usually _my_ job and…"

"Groot, Mantis, Drax – you all better hold onto something!" Rocket called back over Quill's oncoming rant, and both appeared from opposite sides of the ship, taking a seat.

"I am Groot!"

"You're gonna have to hold it. We don't have time for that."

"I. Am. Groot!"

"I too have to use the bathroom," Drax interjected. Rocket tightened his scarf around his neck, reaching for the jump controls and nodding at Nebula, who gripped the arm rests of her chair, something she always did when they carried out a jump.

"Too bad. If you spray someone, you spray someone. Quill, either take a seat or go splat. Jumping in 3…2…"

"I am _Groot_." Quill rolled his eyes, tapping the tree's shoulder as he passed and slumping down on the remaining seat, at the back of the ship.

"Yes, Groot. He _is_ a grumpy old jackass."

"…1."

* * *

"It seems we're too late." Drax commented as the team exited the Benatar. Since touching down on Jumanjarian, they had not come into contact with anyone. Not a soul. The huts and plant life surrounding their landing spot had been completely decimated. A harrowing path of destruction spanned as far as the eye could see. Whatever it was, it had the power to uproot a forest, and had most probably killed most of the people in the area. Perhaps Drax was right. Nebula scanned the perimeter, a look of puzzlement etching across her face.

"There are several life signs here. It seems they are all…hiding."

"I am Groot?"

"No, we can't just leave, Groot. We've got to at least figure out what it was that attacked this place. It could still be here." Quill grabbed the twin blasters off of his belt, and Drax produced his swords.

"Hello?" Quill called, cautiously walking towards a large, crumbling wall. "Anyone here? It's the Guardians of the Galaxy. We got your SOS." Still, there was no answer. Rocket followed, his own gun hooked around his shoulder. Quill poked his head around the remains of the structure, but there was no one behind it. "You say they're hiding? But the thing isn't even here anymore. There's no blood, no bodies, no nothing. I don't get it!" Rocket lowered his gun, eying up the remaining buildings. The obvious option would be the root through those, and figure out what it was that trashed their planet, and whether it was still there or not.

"Maybe we could scope out the…"

Intense pain rattled through the raccoonoid's body, starting from his back and travelling up his spine, hitting each individual implant on the way up. Each one screamed in crushing agony. Hurtling through the air, he caught a glimpse of Quill, flailing just as he was. The impact ran through his back too, and while it hurt like hell, Quill didn't have several already-painful cybernetic implants dotted all over his body. They landed with a numbing thump, skidding and rolling across the dirt before slowing to a halt about a sixty metres from their teammates.

Quill recovered first, wincing and swearing as he dragged himself onto his elbows. He rolled his shoulder painfully. He could hear Nebula's battle cry, followed by Drax's and Groot's. He dragged himself around.

Like most terrible monsters, it had sharp teeth and long claws. This particular beast possessed a pretty neat pair of wings too, and green eyes that shone like beacons. Its limbs were uneven, with its back legs stumpy and comical. The front pair were long, lean and ready to rip someone to shreds. Quill's eyes were drawn to its tail (or _tails_, plural, since it was split into two towards the end) which must have been what hit him. So, it was some sort of hideous, grey, dragon-like monster…Nothing the team hadn't handled before. Here came the fun part: It was thirty feet tall. Nebula, Groot and Drax jumped right in, dodging swipes, bites and crushing tail smashes. Mantis stood back, unable and unwilling to touch the creature to put it to sleep until it had been weakened at least a little. It was wild; thrashing and flailing with rage.

"Alright Rocket. Get your butt up. It's a pretty bad one." No reply. Quill turned back to face him. Rocket lay still, slightly curled up, his back facing Quill. The captain swore. "Rocket, get up, man. Wake up!" He stumbled towards him, grabbing his small shoulder and pulling him onto his back. His eyes were closed, but he registered the way Rocket's forehead furrowed and his jaw clenched when he did so. Quill risked shaking him again, already preparing himself for the bite and scratch that was probably coming his way. "Rocket, come on. You stay out here, you die. Come on, don't make me drag your ass to the battlefield." He didn't stir. Quill swore again. "Mantis! Get over here!"

The girl jolted at the sound of her name. Nebula, Groot and Drax were not managing well _at all_. Nebula and Drax were phenomenal combatants, but Drax was clumsy when it came to dodging attacks. He had been clawed three times now, and had it not been for his thick skin, he'd definitely be dead. Groot was even worse. He tried strangling it, tying its legs down and piercing it, but it broke through his vines and branches with ease. It seemed he was useless against it. Its roar was so loud and low pitched that it made their organs quiver. This was a losing battle.

Mantis appeared by their sides, kneeling down and instinctively placing her soft, gentle hand on Rocket's head. Her arm trembled, and she sought Quill's eyes. She bit her lip.

"He feels tremendous pain. He's struggling within himself." She glanced over at the beast, who seemed to be getting nearer and nearer. Drax was on its back now, struggling to stab it, but his knives only inflicted flesh wounds on the beast. Mantis lowered her face down to Rocket's, closed her eyes and whispered.

"_Wake_."

His eyes burst open, and he squirmed back onto his stomach, resting on all fours. He trembled, and his eyes squeezed shut again. His implants had never ached like this before. It was as if each one held a personal vendetta against him. Not to mention, his head was spinning. He remembered where he was instantly. He took a deep breath, and reached for his blaster.

"Oh, no you don't." Quill swatted his paw away, turning to face Mantis. "Take him back to the ship. And don't leave his side. I don't want to be scraping his sorry ass off of this crummy planet."

"No way I'm sitting out!" he growled as he reached for the blaster again. Ignoring the headache and the scream of protest coming from his back, he hooked the gun around his shoulder and shakily got to his hind feet. Wary of the precious time they were wasting, Quill snatched the end of it.

"I mean it. I _mean_ it, Rocket. You can hardly stand. You're…It's…" he trailed off, looking for Mantis to step in, and put him back to sleep again if needs be. She offered nothing but concerned eyes and a worried frown. "Rocket, I'm…I am _not_ losing someone else, OK? I'm not losing another member of my team." He let go of the gun, watching as Rocket's gaze trailed off to the fight not too far away. Drax was on the ground, rolling to the side to avoid its tail. Nebula was alternating weapons, moving from pistols, to knives, to lasers. They hardly drew blood. All they did was make it angrier. He caught Quill's gaze, and buckled his gun into place.

"Neither am I."

He began firing, keeping a safe distance away, but giving it all he had none the less. He was standing, and the gun made it hard for him to keep his balance, but he didn't falter. Quill wasted no more time, tapping on his helmet and joining the others.

"Took you long enough!" Nebula hollered, attempting (and failing) to chop off a toe. He began firing his blasters, leaving scorch marks on the pale grey skin, but no wound. Rocket continued to fire, Mantis rooted firmly to his side. It was pointless. Its skin was too tough for a freaking bomb to get through it, never mind bullets and butter-knives. Its wings didn't seem papery, and its chest was a no go. Unless…

He raised the gun again, aimed and braced for the recoil. He pulled the trigger.

A single bullet raced through the air, hitting its target with ease. One of the green beacons went out…followed closely by the most ear-piercing, stomach wrenching shriek the Guardians had ever heard. Quill's ears popped, and Groot fell to the ground with the shock of it. It worked!

"Guys, go for the eye!" he hollered, watching as Nebula was thrown off of the beast's neck and onto the ground. Mimicking Rocket, Quill fired up his jetpack, aimed a blaster at its remaining eye and pulling the trigger. The team watching as the monster's wings shot out, knocking Drax over. They remained there, rigid, while the air became silent again. Its mouth hung open, as if to shriek again, but it didn't make a sound. Swaying for what seemed like an age, it finally leaned forwards, landing flat on its stomach, its wings following suit.

"It's…dead?" Mantis asked, cocking her head sideways. Rocket unhooked the gun, dragging the weapon off of his shoulder and leaning his weight on it.

"I flarken hope so," he sighed. Pain and tiredness washed over him, and he felt as if he could sleep for a week. He couldn't place the weapon on his back again, so he had no choice but to drag it along with him on the way back to the Benatar. Nebula doubled over, panting, whilst Drax collapsed to his knees. Groot spotted Rocket, and approached with concern carved into his face.

"I am Groot?"

"No, I don't need to be carried. I'm fine," he lied. The raccoonoid unloaded his gun, taking the bullets out and shoving them into his suit. He handed Groot the empty weapon. "You _could_ carry this for me, though." Groot's eye's widened in shock. Rocket had never let him hold one of his guns before! He snatched it before he could change his mind.

"Alright, let's get going…" Quill mumbled, sweat beading across his forehead and shoulder still aching.

"Quill." The captain turned, only to find Nebula pointing at something far off into the distance. He squinted. The 'hiders' were beginning to reappear, climbing out from behind shambled huts and rubble. They were a rather petite race, with yellow skin and multi-coloured hair. They stayed where they were, but offered a gesture of their gratitude. Simultaneously, they raised their hands and waved, a perfectly synchronized, collective motion. The Guardians waved back, with the exception of two – Nebula because she gave a single nod instead, and Rocket because…well, because he was currently lying face down in the dust.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**So I finally let the Guardians get some action! If you're wondering why I use the word's 'creature' and 'raccoonoid' to describe Rocket, it's because this version of Rocket is strictly the MCU one. In the MCU, James Gunn has stated that Rocket is not actually a raccoon and has scrapped 'Raccoon' as his last name, and even Clint said so in Endgame. Anyway! Sorry for infliction pain on our boy, but I'm just a sucker for angst! I will probably be doing arcs, where one story is shared over a couple of chapters, and then a new one starts, but I'm super excited to manage this! Until the next chapter! (Also, thank you for your kind reviews! They really give you that boost you need to write, knowing that someone, somewhere, likes your work!)**


	4. Chapter 4 - Jumanjarian Part 2

**Jumanjarian Part 2**

**Rocket deals with the aftermath of his injuries, and lets his guard down for the sake of his best friend**

His mind was blank, as if he was swimming in fog. Had he passed out? Fainted? Even in his lethargic state, he cursed himself. Weak. It would have been easier if he _had_, though. He would have woken up, all taken care of, with no memory of anything before face-planting onto the ground. On the other hand, not passing out seemed a whole lot more stoic. He wasn't completely out of it. He could piece together voices, as if mixed with turbulence. He couldn't tell what they were saying, or if he was imagining the whole thing. It dragged him back…to years before. This was a common occurrence back then, this sedation. This broken mind-frame. There was a gentle pressure placed upon his head, nestling between his drooping ears, but it was all too quickly whipped away. Broken words floated through the air around him.

"…shouldn't have…woken him…wasn't ready…let me…him to sleep…"

"…didn't think…be so bad…take him inside…"

His mind began to knit itself together. Monster. Yes, that's right. There was a monster, who handed himself and Quill their asses. Who cracked the hell out of his back. No, his back wasn't _broken_ \- he managed to walk across the battlefield, hold a gun and stand. Now was no time for dramatics. He began to stir.

He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut to wait out the high blood pressure, as if he had stood up too quickly. His claws dug into the dirt, an effort to anchor his swaying body.

With shaking arms, he pushed himself up. Dammit, his head was spinning again, and not only that, but his spine was _on fire._ Each implant along his back throbbed unmercifully, and the flesh around each one began to spasm. He gritted his teeth, trying to focus on anything other than the pain. A gloved hand grabbed his shoulder. Another reached across, grabbing the other side of his face, turning it. Blue fingers snapped in front of his face. Snap. Snap. Snap. The irony was not lost on Rocket.

"I'm good. I'm…I'm good," he grunted, pulling his head out of Quill's hand. Incredibly slowly, he sat up, grinding his teeth whilst doing so. This was torture. Not only was his back threatening to spontaneously combust, but the team were witnessing his weakness. They were _fussing_ over him.

"You are lying," Drax interjected. Mantis nodded. "You seem to be very much not good. I would go as far as to say, you seem very bad."

"Rocket I _told_ you to go back with Mantis earlier. Why don't you ever listen?!" Quill may have sounded angry, but his words were laced with concern. His hand still balanced on Rocket's shoulder, steadying him. Oddly enough, while his back still screamed in agony, his headache was subsiding…slightly.

"I just…need to lay down, and get off this stinkin' planet." He pulled himself together, brushing away his team and forcing his knees not to buckle. He could do this. One paw in front of the other.

* * *

With his jump suit stripped off of his back, he could finally see the damage done. His back was sticky with blood, his fur clumping together, and the bare skin around his implants stained crimson. With his back faced towards a make-shift mirror, he tenderly rubbed a rag on an implant. Terrible, terrible idea. He hissed, holding back a yell as his back began to spasm all over again. His paw came away bloody. He couldn't possibly clean his wounds if he couldn't even bring himself to touch them.

Knuckles rapped on his door. Rocket swore. Quill had been hovering outside his room for almost a half an hour now. Had the door not been locked instantly, Smother Hen Peter would have bombarded him with fussing and bandages and panic. Rocket didn't want that, or need it.

"I am Groot?"

That wasn't Quill's voice – obviously. He sighed, shrugging back on his jump suit, ignoring the cold, sticky sensation of the blood stained material pressing up against the bald spots on his back. He unlocked the door. After all, it was only Groot. He wouldn't have unlocked it for anyone else.

"Listen, Groot, I 'preciate the concern, but I'm good. Ain't nothing some sleep won't cure." The tree's eyes were oddly concerned, and for a split second Rocket saw his old friend's gaze. He shook it away. They weren't the same person. It was no use in pretending they were. Groot Jr didn't remember helping Rocket clean his weeping wounds, or steal bandages and rags to cover them with, even years after his escape from … _that place_. Had it been almost a decade since he saw his buddy last? His most faithful friend. His life-long companion…or at least he should have been.

The young tree strolled inside, eying up the bloody rags on the ground, and the crimson stain on his friend's jumpsuit, paws and muzzle. His mouth opened in concern, and unlike his father, he didn't know what to do. He had no instinct for this. He couldn't help.

"I…am Groot."

"You can't _do_ anything to help, kid. I told you, I've dealt with things before. Groot used to help me…"

"I _am_ Groot…" The tree pointed to himself in confusion. Surely he would have remembered this? The raccoonoid's head spun.

"Not _you_, Groot. _Other_ Groot. There's nothing _you_ can do." He didn't mean to snap at him. He didn't care less about snapping at others. He never felt guilty about pissing off Drax or Quill, and over the years he and Nebula had developed a cut-throat, brutally honest, no-holding-back relationship. He never liked to shout at Groot, though, even when he deserved it. "I'm sorry, Groot. But you're not him. You're different. Not the same, but that's good too. You're you."

Neither spoke for a few collected moments. Rocket had to retreat to his bed, as he could feel the swaying sensation that came before his legs buckled outside the ship a half hour before. The tree stood in the centre of the room, looking like an awkward piece of furniture. Breaking the silence, Groot huffed, reaching out some vines to gather the least-blood-soaked rag in the room. He stepped forward holding it out.

"I'm _fine_, Groot. I've been through worse than this. Damn things just got dented or somethin'. Those flarken implants have been botherin' me since before I can remember. I'll be…"

"I am Groot. I…am Groot. Groot!" Rocket snapped his jaw shut and held his tongue. '_If you say fine, I will strangle you_!' The tree kept going, striding towards him with the offending material. "I am Groot. I. Am. Groot…Groot." '_I am not that Groot. But I am my own Groot. I can help_.'

For someone who spent their life blasting virtual aliens on a console and throwing the odd curse word at Quill, he was stepping up. Sighing in defeat, Rocket snapped open the buttons of his suit, and let it fall to his waist. Groot squinted, his squeamish gaze snapping from his wounds to his hopeful solution.

"Looks pretty bad, don't it?"

"…Grooooot."

Rocket found amusement in this. For someone so accustomed to battles and alien warfare, he couldn't stomach wounds or blood whatsoever. He hardly touched the rag against the them, and instead of a searing pain, an uncomfortable, irritable tickle took its place. It was confirmed. He was such a polar opposite to the previous Groot. _He_ was so innocent, so obliging, so caring. Groot Jr was more laid-back, yet when Rocket placed them both together in his mind, were they so different? In the same way that the Avengers were similar to the Guardians in terms of their job and their moral duty, they were so contrasting in regards to their relationship and dynamic. How can two things be both so similar, yet so freaking different?

As Rocket shifted his weight, he noticed a weight in the pocket of his jumpsuit bump against his leg. Ah, the bullets. Speaking of which…

"Hey, Groot, where's my gun?" He held back a sigh of relief as Groot stopped his attempt at first aid and bounded towards the door. He had done enough to feel useful, Rocket could do the rest himself. He winced as he reached for the rag, and concealed it in his paw. The tree man returned moments later, kicking the door shut behind him and wielding the blaster proudly. Remorsefully, he handed it over, his black eyes latched onto it with new found fondness. It brought pride into Rocket's soul. "You mind cleaning it up for me?" Groot's eyes exploded, his mouth dropping open. He was never given this much leeway over one of Rocket's weapons before! He took the bait, rushing to find a place to sit and polish Rocket's pride and joy. At least there was no ammunition inside…

No, he wasn't very much like his first Groot. He was no better or worse. Their qualities were different, yet their morals were the same. One thing was for sure, though, there were only two beings in this entire universe that Rocket would let clear his wounds, and see his weakness and share in his pain – and both were called Groot.

_**Author's Note**_

_**I haven't posted in forever, and had a few other pieces to get around to, but I'm back now with some new ideas! Sorry if this chapter was a little short, but I enjoyed working with Groot, as most fics just have him sitting around and moping (true to his character, though!) **_


End file.
